


Charlotte

by americanhoney913



Series: The Lion and the Dragon [8]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anastasia AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanhoney913/pseuds/americanhoney913
Summary: In my dreams, it's all realAnd my heart has so much to revealAnd my dreams seem to say"Don't be afraid to go onDon't give up hope, come what may"I know it all will come backOne day-- In My Dreams, Anastasia***The Anastasia AU no one asked





	1. Far Away, Long Ago

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Broadway version of Anastasia, which is amazing!

_There was a time, not very long ago, where we lived in an enchanted world of elegant palaces and grand parties. My brother-in-law, King Ric ruled the country of Flair once upon a time. He ruled with an iron fist, but was fair to his subjects, or so he thought in his own mind. However, I could see the unrest of those he ruled and felt for them, but the king would not hear it. He threw lavish parties at his palaces while people starved in the streets and struggled to survive the harsh winters._

_This particular party was the Winter Ball, full of revelry and people dripping with jewels. The palace shone like a diamond in the night, lit up like a beacon in a winter storm. No star shone brighter at the ball than our sweet Charlotte, my little niece. She begged me not to return to Paris, but I had to return to my own duties, so I had a jeweler make her a special gift, to make our time apart easier._

“Why must you go, Nattie?” Charlotte asks as Natalya brushes a gilded comb through her hair. Her hair looks like spun gold and shines like the sun in the lamplight. Her dress, a beautiful red dress with diamonds sewn into the fabric. Sitting next to her is a tiny crown full of emeralds and diamonds, a gift from the young Duchess Bliss.

“It’s time to go, my little star,” Natalya says with a sigh. “I’ve stayed too long here. I’m needed back home.”

“Take me to Paris with you,” Charlotte cries as she spins around. The brush drops to the bed as the tiny blonde throws her arms around Natalya, crinkling her light pink dress.

Natalya smooths down her niece's hair, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll visit me with your little brother. There’s a bridge there named for your grandfather, did you know that? The Pont Alexandre. He never saw it.” She clasps the young girl’s hands in hers. “We’ll walk on it together. And we’ll go to the ballet every night!”

“Take me with you now.” Charlotte pulls away and crosses her arms, pouts in a way most unbecoming to a little princess.

“I already have, my darling Charlotte,” Natalya whispers as she pulls Charlotte into her arms. The young blonde curls into her, nuzzling against her neck. “Wherever I go, you’ll always be with me.” She pulls away and Charlotte blinks up at her, blue eyes big and tearful. Natalya taps her nose. “You’re my favorite. Strong, not afraid of anything.”

“Like you,” Charlotte squeaks.

“Shh!” Natalya presses a finger to Charlotte’s mouth. The little blonde giggles and covers her mouth. “Our little secret.”

Natalya reaches down, into her suitcase, and pulls out a music box. It’s dark blue in color, encrusted with diamonds and sapphires and golden edges. She turns the music box over and shows Charlotte as she twists the tiny crank five times. Charlotte watches with wide curious eyes.

“Our lullaby,” she says and Charlotte touches the music box with reverence. “When you play it, think of your aunt, who loves you very very much.”

“It plays our song!” Charlotte squeals and hugs Natalya, who chuckles and begins to hum, swaying with the young blonde in her arm.

“You can play it at night before you go to sleep,” Natalya says in a soft voice as Charlotte nuzzles against her neck. Charlotte’s blonde hair curls into soft ringlets, a crown of braids holding the tiara in place, and they brush against Natalya’s cheek when she moves. Her heart aches to know that they won’t be together for much longer before I must return to my duties in Paris.

“Pretend it is me singing to you…” Natalya begins to hum, which leads into her singing along with the lullaby. She hopes that it might bring Charlotte some semblance of comfort.

_**Natalya:** _

Far away, long ago

Glowing dim as an ember

Things my heart used to know

Things it yearns to remember

**_Charlotte and Natalya:_ **

And a song someone sings

 Once upon a December

“Read this,” Natalya says as she presses the music box into Charlotte’s hand, gesturing to the inside of the top of the box.

The little princess sticks her tongue out as she squints, trying to read the words. “Together… in… Paris.” Her eyes go wide and she turns from the music box to her cousin. “Really?”

“Of course, my little star.”

“Oh, thank you!” Charlotte throws her arm around Natalya. “Oh, Nattie, Paris!”

_**Two Years Later**_

 “Your Grace,” Bayley enters the room with a knock on the already open door. Natalya looks up from the window. The snow outside reminds her of those days in Flair with her little niece. She hasn’t heard from them since, but she’d heard rumors, whispers on the winter winds. There had been some sort of uprising in Flair, against the king and his family. She had to stay in Paris, but she sometimes wishes she could have gone back. Been with her family when everything happened. “This… this came for you in the post.”

Natalya takes the letter gingerly in her hand and stares at it. “Bayley, what if it’s…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can handle knowing.”

“Sometimes it’s better to know than to suffer through the rest of your life torturing yourself with not knowing.”

Natalya sighs and slides her nail under the wax symbol and cuts open the paper. She quickly scans the letter and chokes on a sob as she falls to the ground. Bayley rushes over and sits next to the blonde, wrapping the Dowager Empress in a tight hug.

“Your Grace?”

“All of them?” she chokes on another sob. “ _All_ of them? Oh, Bayley, they’re all gone!”


	2. Have You Heard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is here! For all those who have only seen the movie, enjoy the intro into the world of the Broadway musical version.
> 
> Note: Sasha and Bayley are both aged up for this fic. Both were around 16 when the revolution happened, so they're 26 now. Becky is only older than Charlotte by a few years.

**_{Ten Years Later…}_ **

Becky hides in the shadows, watches as a strange man ascends the podium. She’d been on her way to meet her associate and friend, Sasha, on Portobello Road, the black market of St. Luthersburg. He’s an older man, looks like one of those who came from the palace when she was young. He’s wearing a freshly pressed officer’s uniform, medals shining over his heart, while those in the crowd wear rags and whatever they can cobble together. There’s no gauntness to his face, no sallowness or sickly tone to his skin, so he’s been eating better than the rest of the population of Flair. She hates him already. He’s got a slimy smile and she’s never trusted men who smile like that.

She presses her back against the nearest wall and shivers at the chill of the concrete. Becky can hear the whispers of the crowd, dissatisfaction evident as they speak of the horrible outcome of the revolution in Flair.

The man clears his throat and introduces himself as Shane McMahon, the top general to his father and the man who brought the revolution upon Flair. Becky’s blood boils because this is the son of the man who ruined countless lives in the name of military freedom. Turned a patriarchy into a dictatorship.

“We hear you, comrades! The revolution hears you!” he shouts passionately. “Yes, our way has been long, the journey hard. The chains of the Flair family were heavy. Three long centuries they bound us. But we have broken them! Together we will forge a new Flair.” God, Becky thinks, he’s ugly when he speaks. Spittle flies from his mouth as he speaks, muscles bulge in his neck and at his temple, and his face turns as red as Becky’s hair. “A fair and compassionate Flair that will be the envy of all the world. That is the promise we have made. Fellow citizen to fellow citizen.” He pauses as an overdramatic effect and Becky rolls her eyes. “The king’s St. Luthersburg is now the people’s Mondtegrad!”

The people in the crowd cheer, as if they have something to be happy about. “They can call it Mondtegrad, but it will always _be_ Luthersburg,” Becky mumbles to herself. “New name, same empty stomachs.”

She wanders through the crowd as it breaks apart, people making their way to the bread lines and stalls selling rotting food. Becky knows you can’t cook an empty promise, those that the revolution gave them, in an empty pot. They might say times are better, but the redhead knows they’re not. But she says nothing because those that argue and object to what the higher-ups are telling them to disappear.

Becky pulls her hood further over her head as the grey skies threaten to open up to release the last of the winter snow onto them.

She sees Shane in the corner of her eye, heading her way, and she turns and runs in the opposite direction. She worms her way into a crowd of despondent people, wandering around with soulless eyes. In this new world, Becky watches as men dressed in ragged suits push brooms. One of the things she remembers from the first few speeches she heard as a child is that everyone under the new regime is equal. She knows that there are people with much less luck who share small spaces with two dozen other strangers.

“Have you heard? There’s a rumor in St. Luthersburg,” one of the people in the soup line next to her. Becky perks up and listens to the people around her as they whisper to each other. “Have you heard what they’re saying on the street?”

“Although the king did not survive, one daughter may be still alive,” a man with too many missing teeth whispers and Becky wrinkles her nose at the scent of alcohol on his breath.

“They say her royal cousin will pay a royal sum,” another woman says as she joins the gossiping crowd. “To someone who will bring the princess back to her.”

Becky rolls her eyes and turns away. She bumps into someone and is about to bite their head off when she meets amber eyes and sees purple hair and she sighs. “Damn, Sash, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Sasha pants, “but you weren’t at the hideout.” She pushes against the crowd and grabs Becky’s hand, pulls her away and around a corner.

“What’s up?” Becky asks as she pushes her hood off of her head and fluffs out her hair. “I know you didn’t just come to see this pretty face.

“They’ve closed another border out of Flair. We should have gotten out while we still could!” She turns around, away from Becky and shakes her head. “St. Luthersburg was lovely when royalty was in.” The purple-haired woman smiles softly as she looks into the distance. “I was the royal maid to the queen, until the stupid revolution.” She shakes her head and huffs out a sigh.

“Sash,” Becky calls, getting the other woman’s attention. “I’ve been thinking…”

“You, thinking? Must be doomsday.”

“Fuck you.” Becky smacks Sasha’s arm. “I’ve been thinking of the princess… Charlotte.”

“Not you too!”

Becky smirks and puts her hood back on, throwing her arm around Sasha’s shoulder. “It’s the rumor, the legend, the mystery.” She moves her arm across the sky in front of Sasha’s face. “It’s the Princess, Charlotte, who will help us fly. We’ll go down in history.”

“And how are we gonna do that?”

“We’ll find a girl to play the part,” Becky says, “teach her what to say. Dress her up and take her to Paris.”

Sasha’s eyes go wide and she licks her lips. “Imagine the reward her dear cousin will pay.”

Becky fist pumps the air and whoops. “Who else could pull it off but you and me?”

The two of them walk down the alleyway, chattering about their plan.

* * *

 

Charlie coughs and wraps her threadbare coat tighter around herself. She remembers the woman at the orphanage handing it to her as they kicked her out. It’s the end of winter, so she’ll be able to shed it soon, but the last of the season bites at her heels. She tightens her hands around the rough handle of her broom.

She doesn’t remember much before waking up in the hospital, before the orphanage. She has no memories of her past but she yearns for something more.

Charlie jumps as something booms in close proximity, but not near enough to see. She screams as she falls to the ground, holding the broom in front of her as if to protect herself. “No!” she cries, tears springing to her eyes.

A rough hand touches her own and she looks up into brown eyes that give nothing away. The man smiles at her and helps her to her feet, but she pulls away when she’s on her feet. “It was a truck backfiring,” he says and Charlie notices his voice sounds deceitfully soothing. “That’s all it was. Those days are over; neighbor against neighbor. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” He rests his hand against her arm and she trembles. She doesn’t know what he’s going to do and her years at the orphanage made her trust in men shrink until it almost disappeared. “You’re shaking. There’s a tea shop just steps from here. Let me…” He gestures to a shop called _Tea Time_ just down the street, but she pulls away.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispers but shakes her head. She grabs her broom and clutches it to her chest like a shield.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I can’t lose this job,” she tells him, brushing a strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “They’re not easy to come by. But… thank you.”

She rushes in the opposite direction as the tea shop, broom in hand, and disappears around the corner. “I’m here every day,” he says to the empty alleyway.

* * *

 

Becky and Sasha walk down Portobello Road, known as the street where the riches of ages, of the kings and queens and palaces, are sold. Anything and everything someone can scavenge without getting caught are sold on this tiny corner of the underground market. Sasha walks in front, her hands shoved into the pockets of the long fur-lined jacket that harkens back to her time in the palace. The redhead knows it’s stolen, but the purple-haired woman’s kept it in a beautiful condition.

“A dollar for this painting,” Becky jumps as a man step in front of her, “it’s royalty, I swear.” The redhead shoulders past him and grabs onto the edge of Sasha’s jacket.

“Countess Levesque’s pajamas,” another stall hawker calls out. He holds out a beautiful white nightgown that’s turned gray with age and dirt, but it’s lined with what looks like gold thread. “Comrade, buy the pair.”

A woman stands at her stall and holds out a tiny dull music box and a tiara, though both look like they could shine with a little polishing. Sasha hisses as Becky wanders over and takes the tiara from her.

“I found this in the palace,” the woman says in a deep rough voice, “initialed with a ‘C.’ It could be Princess Charlotte’s.” She snatches the dusty crown back from Becky and glares before she turns and holds out the tiara to the crowd. “Now what will someone pay?”

Sasha pulls Becky a little ways from the stall and leans close to her.

“What are you doing?” Sasha hisses.

“We need something of Charlotte's to show her cousin,” Becky responds in the same tone. She points to the woman’s stall, where the tiara sits in a prominent place on the table. The dirty music box sits next to it, forgotten.

“There’s more to being Charlotte than wearing a tiara, Becky.”

The redhead shrugs and readjusts her jacket. She slips her hand into Sasha’s pocket as the other woman gasps. She slaps Becky’s hands away but the street urchin turned con woman chuckles as she waves the cans of beans in Sasha’s face. “Not much. Look how many people you fooled,” she says as she gestures to Sasha’s coat. The redhead turns to the woman and gestures towards the dinky box. “How much is that music box?”

“Ah. The music box.” The woman smiles and Becky cringes at her crooked and missing teeth and chuckles. “It’s genuine Flair royalty. I could never part with it.” She smirks, waiting for Becky to make an offer.

“Two cans of beans, comrade?” Becky holds up the cans and shakes them, doing a mental victory as the woman’s eyes follow the aluminum and the redhead can almost imagine the drool beading at the corner of her mouth. She waves them and then when the woman doesn’t respond, she starts to shove them into the pockets of her long coat.

“Done,” the woman squeaks as she shoves the music box into Becky’s hands and scampers off with the tiara and the cans of beans.

“Well,” Sasha says with a sarcastic tone, “there goes dinner.”

“Aw, come on, Sash, we got more important things to do.” She shakes the music box a little. She jumps in front of Sasha as the other woman tries to walk away. “Do you believe in fairy tales, Sasha?”

Sasha sighs and her eyes go hazy. “Once upon a time I did,” she rasps. Becky knows she’s thinking of the woman Becky’s heard about so many times. The brunette maid of the Dowager Empress, who left with her before the revolution.

“We’re going to create a fairytale the whole world will believe,” the redhead says as she throws her arm around Sasha and sweeps her arm across the air. “Make magic for the sad people of Flair.”

Sasha scowls as she follows Becky, who jumps up and swings around a lamp post, hair flying around her like fire. “Come on, Becks, get down. We’ve only got the theater until someone finds out what we’re doing.”

“But, Sash, this is risky, but no more than usual.” She gets down from post and circles around the other woman as she counts on her fingers. “We’ll need papers; we’ll need tickets; we’ll need nerves of steel.”

Sasha sits on a park bench and drags the energetic redhead down with her. “Yeah, it’s risky. A _lot more_ than usual.”

Becky waves her off. “We’ll try to cross the border with our princess and our plot.”

“Hopefully disaster won’t ensue.”

“With luck, it’ll all go smoothly.”

“And with luck, we won't be shot.”

The two of them beam at each other and throw their arms around each other in a side hug. “Who else could pull it off, but me and you.”

“We’ll be rich!” Becky shouts.

“We’ll be out!” Sasha responds.

“And St. Luthersburg will have some more to talk about,” Becky says as Sasha follows her as they race towards the theater, trying to outpace each other.

They reach the theater away from each other and Becky slaps her hand against the concrete of the building. She smirks as Sasha smack her arm and the two of them bend over and pant at the same time.

“A fascinating mystery,” Sasha pants.

“The biggest con in history,” Becky says with a smirk. She unlocks the door to the theater.

“We’re so gonna get in trouble for this, aren’t we?”

“What’s a little risk for all the reward?” Beck responds with a question of her own. “Just think of the money, Sash. Think of what you could do.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Think of what you could get _Bayley_ with it.”

Sasha blushes. “Shut up. We’ve got auditions in an hour.” She rolls her eyes. “Hopefully this goes better than the last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the names around a little so that it makes more sense to the story and the connection to Charlotte and Shane, who is Gleb in this story.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. We've got more coming up and I'm definitely adding some of my favorite scenes from the movie into the fic if I can find a place.
> 
> Question: Does the way the song is worked into the fic make sense?


	3. The Truth of My Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading more and more into Broadway territory, but don't worry. We've got some scenes from the movie coming eventually. Including my favorite scene on the train.

The Flair’s winter palace, or the ruins of what was once a beautiful place, might not be the ideal place to hold auditions for the next Princess Charlotte, but they’ve run out of options. They’ve been found by the police in every other place. So Sasha agrees that here’s the last place the police would look- people believe the palace is haunted by the spirits of the royal family- and Becky goes out to retrieve their guests.

Peyton Royce gets ushered into the makeshift theater first and the other two women stand near the doorway behind her. Sasha settles herself in one of the two chairs in the room, a dusty table in front of her. She slides her glasses on and shuffles the papers in front of her, which Becky knows are blank.

Peyton stands in front of them and walks with the worst “princess walk” Becky’s ever seen. “I am the Grand Duchess Charlotte Flair!” she says, but it sounds garbled due to whatever’s in her mouth. God, why did Becky think they had a chance.

Becky kicks the table in front of her and Peyton jumps. “Try it this time without the gum in your mouth.”

“It’s not gum,” she says with a scoff, as if it’s insulting that she would chew _gum_. “It’s tobacco.” She points her nose in the air and walks towards where the two other women sit. They begin chatting amongst themselves as Becky turns to Sasha as the purple-haired woman puts her head in her hands.

“ _T_ _hese_ are the last three, Sash?”

“Who were you expecting?” Sasha asks, her mouth curving into an annoyed snarl. “Paige Bevis?” She scoffs and shakes her head, resting it in her hands on the table.

Peyton sashes back to the center of the room and begins to overdramatically try again. “It’s me, cousin! Your precious Charlotte!” She puts her hand against her forehead as she paces and scrunches up her face. To Becky, she looks like she’s constipated and the redhead can’t understand what she’s trying to do. “They shot me but I lived and I came all the way to Paris to tell you I’m alive.” By the end of her spiel, Peyton shakes her head and stops in front of Becky. She leans over the table and whispers to the redhead, “I’m not really an actress.”

Sasha lifts her head up and chuckles ruthlessly. “No!” she cries, as if shocked. Peyton huffs and scowls at the purple-haired woman.

Becky gets up and begins pushing the three woman, not even giving the other two a chance to audition. “Thank ya, ladies,” she says as she mockingly bows at them. “We’ll let ya know.” She begins to shut the door but one of the other women, Dana, won’t let her close it.

“What you’re doing is against the law!” she cries out.

“For this, we lost our best hours on the street,” the last woman, Billie, whines. Sasha spins around to look at Becky in shock. Okay, so _maybe_ Becky didn’t tell her partner in crime she picked up three prostitutes off the street because she was just that desperate.

“If you weren’t so handsome, Becky, I would report you,” Peyton says with a giggle as she runs her fingers through Becky’s hair. The redhead blushes and shakes her head.

“Out! Out!” Becky pushes the women out into the cold winter air and shuts the door, leaning on it with a groan.

Sasha kicks her feet up onto the rickety table and dust falls from underneath it. “Well, you tried, Bex. Charlottes don’t grow on trees.” She pulls her coat tighter around her and shivers.

“Yeah, I’m not giving up,” Becky growls as she walks to the middle of the room. Her shoulders hunch inside her coat and it makes her look smaller. “I’ll go to Siberia to find a Charlotte.” She reaches into her bag, the one she hasn’t taken off since the market, and pulls out the music box.

Sasha chuckles and shakes her head, tapping her fingers on the table in a rhythm that annoys Becky to no end. “Have you ever been to Siberia?”

“I’ve never been anywhere but here,” Becky says softly, her eyes misting over and Sasha watches from behind her thick-rimmed black glasses as the redhead moves to it on a sheet-covered bench.

“Ah, the day I took up with you…” Sasha sighs wistfully as she crosses to grab her coat off the hanger, beating out the dust from it before she puts it on.

“It was me or the firing squad.” Becky makes finger guns at Sasha, who rolls her eyes.

“You saved my life.”

“A rash act of kindness,” Becky waves her best friend off, as if to say saving her life was nothing. “Completely out of character!” She won’t look at Sasha, instead beginning to inspect the music box, trying to find a way to open it.

Sasha laughs. “Stop fiddling with that before you break it.”

“I can’t get it open.”

“It’s a fake!”

“Oh, what do you know?”

“No one spots a fake like Sasha Banks. Biggest fake of them all.” Sasha throws her hands in the air and Becky laughs, shaking her head.

Suddenly, the friendly chatter between the two women breaks when there’s a loud thud on the door. It comes again as someone begins to knock urgently.

Becky and Sasha panic. The purple-haired woman scrambles to reach any can and bit of food she can while Becky scrambles to put some of the sheets back and brush dust onto them.

“I knew it!” Becky shouts. “Those women ratted on us!”

“At least they’ll feed us in jail!” Sasha counters as she shoves a rind of cheese into her mouth. She watches as Becky dives behind one of the couches, but Sasha doesn’t have time to hide.

The doorknob twists and then the door opens to reveal a beautiful, dirt-covered blonde. She looks at Sasha with wide eyes and jumps back.

“I’m looking for someone called Becky,” she says in a soft, scared tone.

“I’m Becky,” the redhead says in a no-nonsense attitude as she comes out from behind the couch. She walks over to stand next to Sasha and crosses her arms. “What do you want?”

Charlie walks over to her and Becky has to look up at the blonde. She scowls at the thought. “I need exit papers,” the blonde says. “And I was told you’re the only person who can help me.”

“Exit papers are expensive,” Becky counters.

“I saved a little money.”

“The _right_ papers cost a lot.” The redhead grabs a chair and sits down. Sasha moves to the side and watches the interaction with interest.  

“I’m a hard worker; you’ll get your money.” She goes and kneels next to Becky, a pleading look in her crystal blue eyes. Becky can’t look away but she knows she has to if she’s to stay strong.

“What do you do?” Becky asks.

“I’m a street sweeper.”

Becky turns to Sasha and gestures to where Charlie’s sitting on the floor. “A street sweeper!” she mocks.

The blonde looks frantic, grabbing onto the edge of Becky’s sleeve. “In Odessa, I washed dishes. Before that, I worked in the hospital in Perm.”

“They’re a long way from here,” Becky says, voice going just a touch softer. Charlie begins to relax and nods.

“I know,” the blonde says, “I walked it.”

Becky gapes like a fish out of water. Her eyes go wide. “You… you _walked_ here all the way from Perm?”

“I had no choice,” Charlie says.

Becky gives Sasha a _look_ and the other woman nods. “Who are you running from?” the redhead asks, putting her hand over Charlie’s.

“I’m running _to_ someone,” Charlie admits. “I don’t know who they are. But they’re waiting for me in Paris.”

“You don’t need papers,” Becky says as she stands. “There’s a canal out there. Jump in and start swimming. You’ll be in Paris before you know it!” Sasha joins in as Becky walks over to her and smacks her on the back. “She’s crazy!”

“I’m not crazy.” There’s fire in her eyes as she stands up and glares. “Why are you so unkind?”

“We were hoping you’d be someone else,” Sasha admits in a much softer tone as Becky continues to laugh.

“Who?”

“Someone who may not even exist,” Sasha says as she sits on a chair on the other side of the room. Charlie walks between them, touches a chair, and her eyes go wide. She takes a step back and shakes her head. Becky and Sasha watch her with trepidation.

“I’ve been in this room before,” Charlie breathes in wonder. “There was a play. Everyone was beautifully dressed.”

“This was the private theatre in King Flair’s Palace,” Sasha tells her.

“People were polite and kind,” Charlie says as she continues to walk around as if she’s in a daze.

“She’s going to faint on us!” Becky cries and backs towards the door.

Sasha takes the blonde’s hand and her chair and moves them both to the center of the room. She pushes Charlie into the chair as the other woman continues to scan the room. “When did you eat last?” she asks Charlie.

“Afterwards, we danced.” Charlie ignores Sasha and shakes her head. “There was champagne. I stole a sip!” She giggles.

“Where are your manners, Becky?” Sasha shouts at the uncomfortable redhead. “Get her some water. And a piece of that cheese too.” She points to the last crumbs of cheese in the corner of the room.

Becky scowls. “This isn’t a soup kitchen, Sasha.” But the purple-haired woman points to where the food is and Becky grumbles as she goes to collect some water and food for the urchin that walked into their home and their lives.

“You seem to be a gentlewoman. Even if your friend is not.” Charlie smiles up at Sasha.

“A gentlewoman?” She laughs. “I haven’t heard that word in a long time.” She smiles and touches Charlie’s shoulder. “Life has not been easy for my young friend.” She gestures with a thumb back towards where Becky continues to scowl at them.

“Life has not been _easy_ for anyone,” Charlie says. Becky comes back and shoves the cup into Charlie’s hand. “Thank you.”

Sasha slings her arm over Becky’s as she stands. “Don’t be too quick about this one.”

“Her?” Becky scoffs. “Have you gone crazy too?”

Sasha turns to Charlie and holds out her other hand. “I’m Sasha.” She lets go of Becky and sweeps low into a bow. “What’s your name, dear?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie whispers. She looks down at her hands as she begins to fidget.

Sasha’s smile vanishes but Becky chuckles and grabs her chair to move it closer.

“You don’t know?” Sasha asks.

“They gave me a name at the hospital. Charlie.” She shrugs. “They told me I had amnesia.” Sasha and Becky share a glance and lean in to listen. “There was nothing they could do about it.”

“Tell us what you _do_ remember,” Sasha prompts and Charlie nods.

“Well, uh, they said I was found by the side of a road. There were tracks all around and it had recently snowed. I remember waking up in the darkness and cold, not remembering my name or my memories. It was raining when I woke up and the sheets were scratchy against my skin. The nurses were all old and wrinkly and terrifying.

“They said my name was Charlie; they gave me a hat. I don’t know a thing before that.”

Becky and Sasha watch as Charlie gets up and begins to wander the room as she talks, sniffling. “I traveled the backroads and slept in the woods. I stole what I needed and worked when I could. I kept telling myself to keep up my courage, no matter how foolish I felt. But… but at night in my dreams…

“In my dreams, I could hear voices calling me. There was a long hallway, a light at the end, and I would run towards the light… and…”

“What happened?” Becky asks, almost breathless.

“I’d wake up,” Charlie says with a shrug as she touches her scarf. “The dreams would fade, but I can still feel them. Somewhere in the back of my mind.” She walks over to a gaping Sasha and hands her the empty water cup.

“I remember a story about Paris whispered to me. A beautiful river; a bridge by a square. And someone whispering, ‘I’ll meet you right there…’ In Paris.”

Becky scoffs.

Charlie turns and walks towards her, glaring and pointing a finger in her face. “You don’t know what it’s like not to know who you are. To have lived in the shadows and travel this far.” She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. “I’ve seen flashes of fire. I’ve heard the echoes of screams.” She turns to Sasha. “But I still have this never-ending faith in the truth of my dreams. They feel as reach as a hand reaching out to touch you. It’s all real. The voice in my dreams says ‘don’t be afraid to go on. Don’t give up hope come what may.’ I know it all will come back one day.”

Becky stands up, still in a daze from what she’s just heard. “Maybe we can help you after all, Charlie.” She rests her hand on the blonde’s arm and smiles at her. It’s not a kind smile, but it’s no longer cruel. “It so happens we’re going to Paris ourselves.” Sasha pulls the blonde from Becky’s hold and begins to talk animatedly with her hands as the two of them exit the room. Becky rubs her hands together and smirks as she follows them out the door, a little skip in her step.

They might have found the perfect stand-in for the real Princess Charlotte after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys thought!


	4. A New Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's just a filler and definitely not my best work. But I wanted to get back to actually writing Charlie, Becky, and Sasha as they prepare to go to Paris to meet Natalya.

The sounds of typewriters click and echo around the room as reporters and propaganda peddlers hurry to write articles. Women in patchy brown skirts and men in rumpled white shirts move about the room. Some officers of the revolution walk between them, backs straight and eyes scowling.

“Another rumor on the streets,” a woman grumbles as she leans over and hands her freshly typed paper to a man walking by with a stack of them.  “Another rumor to attend.”

“Fill out a new report,” the man responds as he hands her a fill-in-the-blank paper. She scowls at him but goes back to her work. “The rumors never ends.”

“Another steal, another lie,” yet another woman says as she bites at her pen, checks off something and goes back to her typewriter. “Another spy betrays a friend.”

“The rumors never end.”

Shane stomps into the open floor plan from the entrance with three women in tow. They’re dressed like prostitutes and the women in the office turn their noses up. Peyton, Dana, and Billie scowl back and Dana scoffs. Some of the women here she used to work beside on the street. Must be nice to have any money or a good job at all.

Shane leads them into his office and shuts the door. He goes to sit behind his desk and steeples his fingers while the three women shuffle, standing in uncomfortable silence.

“Anything concerning the Flairs,” he says as he leans back, “even the most preposterous rumor, we take very seriously.”

“I told you,” Billie laughs cruelly. “ _She’s_ about as much a Flair as I am.”

“She’s a street sweeper,” Peyton says. “She was sleeping under a bridge until she took up with them.”

“Her name is Charlie,” Dana supplies and Peyton snaps her tobacco loud enough to make Billie jump and glare at her.

“Thank you,” Shane says.

“Are you going to arrest them?” Dana asks.

“You’ve done your duty,” Shane responds in a no-nonsense attitude. He gestures to the door. “And I’ve done mine. Listening to your gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, it’s the truth!” Billie cries out in a shrill tone.

Shane slams his fist on the desk. Everyone outside his office jumps and turn to him. He takes his time getting up from his desk and puts his finger under Peyton’s face. She seems to be the leader, so he thinks intimidating her will trickle down to the others.

Shane snarls at her and she tilts her head up, putting on a brave face. “The next time I see the three of you soliciting on Theatre Street, I won’t look the other way.” He pushes her away and she, along with the other prostitutes, run out. They knock over one man heading back to his desk and the door slams shut behind her.

The older man pinches his nose and sighs. “Another girl to apprehend. One more pretender who no longer played pretend.” He leans out the door and shouts to the nearest desk worker. “Fill out a new report!”

Hopefully, he can do something about this imposter before she and the con artists flee the country. Although he’ll just chase them if they dare. He can’t let the rumors turn into false truths. The revolution must stay strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not my best chapter, but let me know what you thought anyway.


	5. Imagine How It Was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter! There was a lot of song lyrics in this chapter, so I tried my best to fit it into a dialogue story! I hope you guys enjoy it, especially those of you who have been begging for it!
> 
> Hope it meets your expectations.
> 
> NOTE: It's very late here, so this is unedited! Please forgive any mistakes and I'll get to editing tomorrow. I just wanted to get this out to you!

Charlie entered the main room of the palace after Becky. It smells like chalk and dust and mold, and Charlie wrinkles her nose. Becky rolls her eyes and gestures towards a lopsided stool in front of the chalkboard. Sasha’s standing in front of it, writing notes on the board.

Becky puts her hands on Charlie’s shoulders and the blonde jumps as her thumbs dig into the muscle of her shoulder. “You ready to become the Grand Duchess Charlotte Ashley Flair?” the redhead asks.

Charlie turns to her and shakes her head. “I’m ready to find out who I am,” she says, her voice strong, even though she can feel the fear churning in her stomach. “But I’m not going to lie to do it.” She pushes off Becky’s hands and goes to stand.

However, Becky pushes her back down. “It won’t be a lie,” she reassures the blonde. “We’re going to help you remember the truth.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Charlie responds as she pulls at the frayed ends of her jacket, twisting some of the string in her hand.

“If the Dowager Empress recognizes you as her niece, Sasha and I will get a small reward for our efforts and we will all live happily ever after.”

“And if she calls me an imposter?”

“It will all just be an honest mistake,” Becky pauses and puts her hands over Charlie’s and the blonde swallows. The heat from Becky’s fingers envelops her own, sinks through her fingerless glove and into her skin. “Either way, it gets you to Paris and it gets us out of Flair.” Charlie shudders as Becky pulls away and throws her arms out. “Everybody wins.”

Charlie deflates, curling in on herself, hunching her shoulders. “How do you become the person you forgot you ever were?” She won’t look at Becky.

She looks up when a hand lands on her knee and squeezes. Kind brown eyes look at her with sympathy, purple hair draped over delicate shoulders “Take a deep breath,” the woman says. “Close your eyes.”

Charlie’s eyes flutter closed and she gasps when a heavy book lands in her lap. She can feel Becky’s hand on her back, hair draping over her shoulder that isn’t just hers, and Sasha’s hand pulling away from her knee. “Imagine another time. Another _world._ ”

Charlie’s breath shudders. She can do this. She has to do this if she wants her family back. Even if she’s not the princess, she’ll be able to start a new life in Paris. Away from the poverty and darkness hovering over Flair. “I’m ready,” she breathes.

“You were born in a palace by the sea,” Sasha says as Charlie’s eyes flutter open, the older woman pointing at a black and white picture of a beautiful palace. She can see the waves lapping at the shoreline. Charlie’s sure she’s never been to the ocean, but she can hear the birds in the picture, can smell the air. Like she’s been there.

“Could it be?”

Sasha nods. “Yes. And you rode horseback when you were only three.”

Charlie scoffs and shakes her head. The only horses she’s known were the ones in the street, with hooves that sometimes send up sparks and fierce eyes. “Horseback riding? Me?”

Sasha nods and keeps talking about her as if she was the princess. They talk about how she threw tantrums and terrorized the cooks, but her father knew how to control her with a single look.

“Imagine how it was,” Becky says as she joins Sasha in front of her. “Your long-forgotten past.”

“We’ve lots and lots to teach you and the time is going fast,” Sasha adds as she grabs Charlie’s hands and pulls her up. She giggles as the older woman puts the book on her head instead. “Let’s see you walk. Head up. Regal bearing.”

Becky pokes her back so she stands up straight and she gasps as the redhead grabs her chin and won’t let it fall. “Now shoulders back and stand up tall. And do not walk, but try to float.”

She tries to do just that. To float across the room like a princess. She stumbles, shakes herself out, and tries again. Charlie knows she’ll never be a princess, never be perfect, but she wants to try. At least to make it to Paris and the bridge from her dreams.

“I feel a little foolish,” she tells Sasha, but she can hear Becky snickering in the background. “Am I floating?”

“Like a sinking boat,” Becky responds as she comes to walk backwards in front of her, smile twisted into almost a smirk. Charlie’s never been a very violent person, but she wants to punch the redhead in her stupid smug face.

Sasha seems to do it for her, smacks the back of Becky’s head, and smiles at Charlie. “You give a bow.”

“What happens now?”

“Your hand receives a kiss,” Sasha says and Charlie gasps as Becky pulls off her single glove and presses her lips against the blonde’s skin. She scowls at her hand, as if it’s betrayed her. Becky pulls away and continues to smirk at her.

“Most of all remember this,” Becky says, but Sasha jumps in, pushing her to the side.

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it.”

“Something in you knows it,” Becky adds. ’There’s nothing to it.”

The purple-haired woman grabs Charlie’s hand and the blonde giggles as they walk together, Sasha pulling her backwards. “Follow in my footsteps, shoe by shoe. You can learn to do it too.”

She then lets Charlie’s hands go and the blonde begins to walk around, although she feels stupid. Charlie watches as the older woman does the same, copying her in her awkward movements. “You’re the ones who don’t stand straight!” Charlie cries and shakes her finger at Sasha.

“It’s all her years of bowing and kowtowing in court,” Becky jokes as she bows in the most comical way possible. Charlie covers her mouth as she giggles when the redhead twists her legs and falls to the ground. Sasha chuffs and helps the other con-woman up.

“Bowing is a sign of respect,” Sasha argues.

“I bowed to someone once,” Becky says, looking into the distance.

Sasha smacks her on the back. “There! You admit it!”

“I was a just a little girl,” Becky snaps and Charlie blinks in surprise. It seems like sore subject for the redhead. “I didn’t know any better. That was the first and last time!” Becky cuts the air with her hand, a sharp movement.

Charlie, to cut the tension, grabs at her skirt and curtsies. Becky and Sasha blink at her in surprise. She shocks even herself because the movement feels so natural, yet she’s never had to curtsey to anyone in her life.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Becky asks.

Sasha shakes her head and slaps her hands together. “I didn’t teach you. She’s a natural! Be seated, young lady!” She pulls Charlie to a table at the side of the room. Becky sets an empty bowl in front of the blonde, giving her a spoon.

“Now elbows in and sit up straight. And do not slurp the stroganoff.”

Charlie throws her golden hair over her shoulder and says in a light, airy tone, “I never cared for stroganoff.”

Sasha jumps up and points at the blonde. “She said that like a royal Flair!”

“The Samovar!”

“The caviar.”

Charlie stands up and points her spoon at the two other women. “Dessert and then goodnight?”

Becky and Sasha walk up to her and she backs up. “Not until you get this right!”

Sasha pulls over the chalkboard and Becky helps Charlie out of her coat, giving her a mocking bow, before she takes off her own. There are many names on the board, arranged like a family tree, and Charlie squints at all the names. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to remember all of these people. But some of the names seem familiar.

“Who is your great grandmother?” Sasha asks.

“Queen Kathleen,” Charlie responds.

“Great-great-grandmother?”

“Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld.”

“Your best friend is?”

Charlie beams, a wistful smile on her face. “My little brother Reid.”

Becky makes a high pitched beeping noise and shakes her head. “Wrong,” she says. “Your best friend is—”

“I know who my best friend is,” Charlie snaps back.

“What a temper.” Becky shakes her finger in the blonde’s face and Charlie feels her rage grow.

She’s been talked down to as long as she can remember and this just feels like too much. They’re trying to make her something she’s not. “I don’t like being contradicted,” she snarls. She whacks Becky with the book sitting on the table.

“That makes two of us,” Becky responds as she snatches the book from Charlie.

Sasha coughs and shakes her head. Becky smiles, but Charlie feels chastised. “Continuing on,” Sasha says as she tries to reign them in. Charlie watches as she pulls Becky behind the chalkboard. There’s a thunk and, when they return, Becky’s scowling at Sasha, who’s chuckling as she waves the book.

Charlie stands up and her chair clatters to the ground. The two look up at her with wide eyes as she goes to stand in front of the door. She can’t do this. They’re trying to change her. She’s not a liar, a con, trying to trick a nice lady into thinking her only family is alive. She won’t be like these two. Charlie knows she won’t be able to survive on the streets, but she’d rather die an orphan than a false princess.

“I’ve had it and I hate you both. I’m sorry that we ever met.” She shakes her finger at Becky and Sasha as she grabs her jacket and angrily puts it on. She swipes her single glove from the table and shoves it into her pocket. “I’m hungry and I’m frightened. And I’m only human, don’t forget. I don’t remember anything. Get out and let me be.” She puts her hands over her face and falls to the ground. Her shoulders shake as she sobs. She’s so tired of not knowing who she is. Tired of being pushed and pulled and prodded one way or another.

She sniffles and looks up as gentle hands touch her shoulder. She looks up and finds Sasha looking at her, a sad smile on her face. The purple-haired woman pulls Charlie to her feet and wipes her eyes.

“Charlie, darling, look at me.” She puts her finger under Charlie’s chin and lifts it up. Charlie would find it funny, because Sasha’s almost a head shorter than her, but the gesture is still nice. “We're all frightened.” She shrugs. “Well, slightly, now and then. Shall we start again? Take a breath. Count to ten.” They do this together until Charlie’s stops crying and she nods her head. “You have courage and strength you barely know.” Sasha pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and hands it to the blonde. “So blow that little nose and dry those pretty eyes. A princess like Your Majesty can do this if she tries.”

Sasha flips the chalkboard again and Becky, who’s standing too close to it, gets hit in the face. Again. Charlie giggles and Becky sends her an unusually warm smile. The blonde will have to worry about that later, because Sasha’s going wild with the chalk on the board.

“Now here’s your great-aunt Mella,” Sasha points to one of the names. “How she frolicked on the Velga.”

“Oh!” Charlie says as she tries to remember all the names.

“Your distant cousin Khali… loved his vodka.”

“Got it, Charlie?”

“No.” There’s many names, Charlie thinks as they keep going. Is there going to be a test when they get to Paris?

“The Duke of Oldenburg was short.”

“Louise of Baden—”

“Had a—”

“Wart.”

“Count Sheamus wore a feathered hat,” Becky says.

“I hear he’s gotten very fat,” Sasha adds as she smacks Becky’s arm, laughing.

“And I recall his yellow cat!” Charlie shouts as she stands up. She remembers cuddling with a sandy-colored cat when she was younger, although she doesn’t know if that was this man’s cat or not. But she remembers a rumbling Irish accent and the cat’s name reflecting that accent, that culture.

Becky and Sasha share a look. “I don’t believe we told her that,” Sasha says, mouth open in awe.

Charlie stands up on the chair, grabs Sasha’s hat off of her head and tilts it. “If you can learn to do it, I can learn to do it.”

“Saw you and I knew it.” Sasha winks and points to her. She chuckles and throws the older woman’s hat back to her.

“I’m glad you knew it.” She clasps her hands together. "Suddenly I feel like there’s a chance.”

“Not until you learn to dance,” Sasha says as she pulls Charlie from the chair and stands her in the middle of the room. She pulls Becky over and places their hands in the right places. Charlie blushes and Becky won’t look at her. When they begin, Sasha counting the steps, Becky reveals herself to be a horrible dancer. She steps on Charlie’s food by accident and the blonde steps on her foot in response. She yelps and growls, but Charlie just smiles down at her.

Sasha dances by herself, with a ghost partner, as she counts the steps. Charlie notices out of the corner of her eye that the purple-haired woman steps back and ultimately leaves the room.

She laughs as Becky pulls her in, still horribly dancing but trying. The redhead’s got her tongue sticking out, mouth moving as she counts. It’s more intimate, just the two of them, and it warms a place within Charlie’s cold heart. The heart that froze that same day she was found in the snow outside the hospital. Becky tries to lift her into a spin and Charlie squeals when they stumble. They’re both laughing and Charlie reciprocates, lifting Becky and leads them into a spin. The room feels hot and heavy as they step out of each other’s space, looking at each other with wide eyes.

All of a sudden, Sasha comes back in, humming as she grabs Charlie and continues to dance. Becky grabs one of the blonde’s hands and Sasha’s other and the three of them dance around the dusty room.

They stop dancing and lift Charlie onto the chair again, where she towers over them.

“You can learn to do it!” Sasha and Becky say at the same time.

“Nothing to it,” Charlie says in response, a huge smile on her face. Her nose scrunches up as she recites. “The caviar. The stroganoff. The Samovar. The feathered hat. The cousin drank. The Duke was short. And here a wart and there a cat. The horse’s name was Romeo. So, tell me something new.”

Becky and Sasha cheer and Charlie’s heart flutters. She’s never had friends and, while she’s still wary of them, these two women have been kinder to her than anyone she remembers.

“You can learn to do it too,” they say at the same time.

“Tres bien, mademoiselle, tres bien,” Sasha says in French.

Charlie beams. She knows French, although no one could understand why. She lives in Flair, where everyone speaks English.

“Merci, madame, merci.” She curtsies.

“Tu parle français?” Sasha asks.

“Un peu.” She makes a tiny space with her index finger and thumb.

Becky and Sasha stare at her in awe. Again.

“Oh! She’s charming!” Sasha shouts as she throws her arm over Charlie’s shoulder. It’s awkward at best with the height difference, but Charlie doesn’t mind. Sasha feels like an older sister, or one of the girls at the orphanage who took care of the younger ones until she was thrown out. That was Charlie before she, too, got the boot.

“What were you telling her?” Becky asks.

Sasha waves the redhead off. “Oh, the aristocrats all spoke French, Becky. English was for common people, like you.” She turns to Charlie. “You get to sleep on the sack of lentils, tonight, Charlie. You’ve earned it.” She kisses Charlie’s hand and the blonde chuckles. It doesn’t feel like Becky’s kiss, but it’s nice all the same. “Bon oui, ma chere. Tomorrow, we begin again.” She wiggles her fingers as she walks backwards until she spins and exits through the door.

“In _English_ ,” Becky grumbles. “For the common man.” She follows Sasha out, still grumbling.

Charlie falls into the chair and stares at the book in front of her. She opens it to the picture of the sea and traces the shoreline. “You were born in a palace by the sea…” She smiles softly. “Could it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys thought! Please, it helps the writing process along.


	6. A Revolution is a Simple Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN SO LONG!
> 
> Have a chapter about Shane McMahon. If you go back, you'll notice I've changed Vince to Shane because it makes more sense with what happens later in the musical. So Vince shows up in this chapter, but only in flashbacks.

The revolution headquarters bustle with people moving back and forth quickly. Women in knee-length skirts and button-up shirts, men in slightly wrinkled slacks and wearing army beret. Papers fly across desks and circulate as the people try to keep up with the rumors that people report.

An officer enters Shane’s office, where the leader sits, twirling the line of the phone between his fingers as he talks. He waves his hand and the man exits again. He goes back to his phone call.

“Thank you, sir. Your confidence in me will be justified.” He stands up to go to the tiny sliver of window he can look out of. He pauses. “My own office. The view of the Diamond Prospect.” There’s another pause as he rubs his chin and smiles. It’s a slimy smile to anyone who sees it. “A Flair telephone that works.” He chuckles and wipes at his eye like it’s humorous. “Ah. That was a joke.” He looks behind him at the knock on his door. There’s a male officer standing in the doorway with a blank face.

“She’s here,” the officer says.

“Sir, our little troublemaker has been found,” he tells the benefactor on the other end of the line. He hangs up and walks back to the window. He waves the officer off, telling him to bring him the troublemaker. His back is to the front of the office, so he doesn’t see Charlie being brought in.

“It’s a remarkable city, our Mondtegrad,” he remarks to himself. “All those people down there, coming and going, creating a future for themselves.” There’s people, like rats, scurrying to and fro down below. “I stand at this window for hours admiring them. And wondering why a few bad apples are getting up to mischief instead. I can see all the way to the old Flair Royal Palace. Funny business going on there. Counterrevolutionary behavior, some might say!”

“Why was I brought here?” a familiar female voice asks.

“I thought you could tell me, comrade!” He spins around and finds himself face to face with the woman from the streets. The one who jumped at the sound of the car. You? The frightened little street sweeper! I almost—” He stops and dismisses the men at the door. Once they leave, he continues. “I had almost stopped looking for you on the Diamond Prospect. Charlie, am I right?”

Charlie eyes him and he can sense her wariness. “Yes.”

“I am deputy commissioner Shane McMahon.” He puts a hand out for her to shake, but leaves it where it is when she looks from his face to his hand but doesn’t move to shake it. “It’s the uniform and the office that give the bad impression. I’m really not so bad.” He gestures to himself and Charlie smiles. “See? I have a sense of humor.” He laughs and she finally shakes his hand. “You're shivering again. A friendly cup of tea will warm us both up.”

“What is the charge?” she asks, voice shaking slightly.

His heart hurts for the orphan that’s looking at him with fear. “There is no charge,” he says gently as he steps closer. “Why should there be? You have a job, food on the table, your own place in the new order of things.”

“I’m very thankful.”

“Which is why I’m warning you to leave your land of make-believe before it’s too late.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you really were who you’re pretending to be, they’d kill you. Without hesitation.”

“Everyone imagines being someone else, and I’m no different. It’s an innocent enough fantasy.”

“No, Charlie,” he steps closer and she steps back. “It is a dangerous one. The Flairs are gone. Every last one of them. They no longer exist. My father was one of the guards.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” She turns away.

Shane leans on his desk and stares at her until she sits back down. “He was told to fire. He obeyed orders.”

“Be very careful of these rumors that prevail. Be very careful what you say.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I was a boy who lived the truth behind the tale and no one got away.”

Charlie stays still as Shane goes to pace, his eyes almost gassy with memory.

* * *

_Shane stands and watches as his Papa and his friends heard a group of familiar people through the chain links. There’s a girl about his age who glares at him, deep Neva blue eyes, before she turns around, her nose in the air. She’s wearing a long fur cloak over a soft yellow dress, one that doesn’t look like a royal dress but one his sister might dress in to play._

_His father stands at the gate, pushing the last of the group inside, a beautiful woman with silver hair and wearing pearls around her throat and a jeweled peacock pin in her hair. Shane sees the pistol glint on his hip, the one he’s been teaching Shane to use on old bottles whenever he’s not drilling recruits._

* * *

Charlie looks ashen as Shane shakes his head. “I heard the shots,” he says, voice soft and pained. “I heard the screams. But it's the silence after I remember most.” He leans against the wall next to the window. “The world stopped breathing and I was no longer a boy.”

* * *

_When Papa comes out of the house, little flecks of red on his crisp grey uniform, he takes Shane’s hand without a word and the two of them get into Papa’s friend's car. He drives them home in silence, the engine the only sound. As soon as they get to their rundown brownstone on the outskirts of_ _St. Luthersburg, Papa exits the car and pulls Shane inside. Mama waits at the door, her hands wringing her dirty apron in her hands. Shane runs to her and grabs her skirts, talking about the pretty blonde he saw today._

_“Vince?” Mama asks as Papa storms past her into the house. He throws his pistol onto the table and sits in one of the chairs. It creaks under his weight._

_“Linda, please,” he says when she opens her mouth. “Don’t.”_

* * *

 

“My mother said he died of shame,” Shane says as he sits back down in his chair across from Charlie. He presses his hand against the pistol, unloaded by out on his desk for all to see. She tenses and he tries to smile at her in reassurance. “I believe he did a proud and vital task and I’m continuing this revolution in my father’s name.”

He gets up to stand at the window and leans against it. He imagines he can see the river from this tiny sliver of window. He cracks it open and sticks his hand out slightly. There’s a light misting in the air and he can almost taste spring in the air. “The Neva flows. A new wind blows and soon it will be spring. The leaves unfold; the king lies cold.”

Charlie stands from her chair. Shane leans against the window and whispers to himself, “could I have pulled the trigger if I'd been told?”

He turns back to Charlie and she sends him a weak smile. “Be careful what a dream may bring because a revolution is a simple thing.

Charlie walks over to him and holds out her hand. “Thank you for your warning, comrade.”

“It’s Shane. Please.”

“Shane.” She nods.

He puts his finger under her chin, and says, “your eyes. A man could look right into them.” She won’t meet his gaze, but her eyes look _very_ familiar to him. He lets his tone alert her to the warning he’s sending her.

Charlie shakes him off and backs away. “I’m late for work,” she tells him.

“As your new friend, be careful Charlie,” he tells her as she turns to exit. He grabs her arm and she turns to him with wide eyes. He doesn’t want her to shrug him off. The little sliver of fear in her eyes tastes delicious and he tries to hide his smile. “As Deputy Commissioner Shane McMahon, be _very_ careful.”

Charlie exits, rubbing where he grabbed her. He watches her leave; she looks back at him before she wraps her shawl tighter around herself to brave the last chill of winter.

“I saw the children as the soldiers closed the gate, Charlie,” he whispers into the empty office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review and let me know what you thought.
> 
> I'm sorry this has taken me so long but, hopefully, the next chapter doesn't take me as long.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a short chapter, but I just wanted to see if anyone was interested in this fic or if I should go back to focusing on other fics.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
